A Land of Dreams and Fire
by dytabytes
Summary: In times of tragedy, people pray not to their government, but to their gods.


A Land of Dreams and Fire

Summary: In times of tragedy, people pray not to their government, but to their gods. // crossover with American Gods. There's enough of a cross it's evident when you know the two canons, but knowledge of some basic mythology is all you need to enjoy the fic.

* * *

  
_Police Detective: I think you take this vigilante stuff too seriously. Since the Keene Act was passed in '77 only the government-sponsored weirdos are active. They don't interfere._

_Detective Steve Fine: Screw them. What about Rorschach? Rorschach never retired, even after him and his buddies fell out of grace. Rorschach's still out there somewhere._

* * *

Mary DeVries is thirty-seven years old and she's sick of this life. She works from six in the morning to eight at night with an hour for lunch in between. Her uniform itches, her shoes are pinching her toes and the tips today were horrible.

She's exhausted.

All she wants is to get home to her beautiful boys, to kiss their heads and hold them close to her heart. Even though she never made it to the top, some day they will if they just keep their heads up.

They're her two reasons for living, the reasons why she puts up with all this crap in this stupid, god-forsaken city. They're her hope.

She's so lost in thought that she doesn't notice the shadows that are edging closer to her as she walks home.

* * *

Three men sit in Times Square, smoking up and watching the clouds. The walls around them are splattered with gore. They pay it no mind.

Ed Bailey squints up at the sky and hums thoughtfully.

"Bright out today."

"It's 'bout time the damned rain stopped."

Mark Columbo puffs angrily on his cigarette and makes meaningless gestures with his other hand.

"Damn kids keep splashing around in the puddles and throwing mud around. Heathens, the lot of them."

Sam North nods and scratches idly behind his ear where the felt of his cap rubs against his balding head. The breeze ruffles his silver hair.

"I don't think they ever learned respect, for their elders _or_ for the dead."

"Disgusting." Mark spits into a puddle and mutters. "Just disgusting, the things they do to the memorial."

"To be fair, it isn't much of one, Marcus. It's just a pile of stones and flowers for now."

"Doesn't matter, Sam. It's the thought that counts. The spirit of the thing."

Ed nods and hums again, puffing on his cigarette and blowing blue smoke out onto the breeze.

"I s'ppose you're right, Mark."

A lazy silence drifts over the three men as they smoke. Sam clears his throat.

"I always wondered… do you think _he_ died? On 10/2, I mean."

* * *

Alice thinks that Greg is a big, fat doofus.

They're playing heroes in Milton's back yard, dressed up in clothes that they borrowed from their parents' closets.

Harry's Nite Owl, and he doesn't look too bad with his hair slicked up and his swim goggles strapped to his face. He'd have a cape, but Mil's Ozymandias, since he's the only one of them who's blonde, and he got the good cape first. They've only got one because Greg's the only one of them who ever dressed up as a vampire for Halloween, and Nite Owl doesn't wear a _towel_ cape, so that's the end of that.

Only it's not because Greg is dumb.

"But you gotta be Silk Spectre!"

"But I wanna be Rorschach!"

"I don't care! _I'm_ Rorschach!"

"I'm the one who brought the Hat, so I should get to wear it!"

The Hat is a slightly battered but still very dignified fedora, brown and worn and large enough that it fits everyone's head quite nicely. It belongs to Alice's papa, really, but he lets her play with it because he doesn't work at the bank anymore so it's hers right now.

"You're a girl! You gotta be Silk Spectre or, like, Silhouette or something!"

Alice stamps her foot on the ground and glares at Greg, but he just glares back.

"I don't wanna! Both of them are wimpy! Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't be one of the cool heroes!"

A flash of inspiration lights her eyes.

"And who said that Rorschach's a guy, anyway?"

All the boys stare at her, but Alice just folds her arms across her chest and sticks her chin out.

"Maybe she's an awesome fighter lady! It's not like _you'd_ know."

* * *

Ed and Mark blink at Sam for a moment, then Ed ventures a slow, "Wait, y'mean _him_?"

"Well, yes? Who else would I be talking about?" Sam taps the ash off the end of his cigarette and raises an eyebrow with a wan smile on his face. "We only have the one hero in the area, you know. It's been that way for at least the last ten years now."

"Yeah yeah, we know, y'old coot." Mark drops his cigarette butt onto the ground, grinds it out with his heel, then turns to Ed and asks, "Didn't the police take him in just before 10/2?"

"Yep." Ed nods. "Heard about it from Timmons when we went for a beer."

"Ch. You and your cop buddies. You retired, what, ten years ago?"

Mark scoffs, but Ed snaps back at him.

"Hey, I might not patrol anymore, but I'll be a cop 'til the day I die. It's not something you just stop doing." He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. There's a distinctly sour look on his face as he continues talking.

"Anyway, the whole thing was stupid if y'ask me. The bastard took out a half dozen officers and they had practically the entire precinct down there to wrestle him down. Waste of men."

"They _did_ take him down, didn't they? I wouldn't call a success a waste?"

It's Ed's turn to give Sam a disbelieving look.

"Well sure they took him down, but they shouldn't have tried in the first place." Ed waves his hand in the air as he explains. "The man was a killer, maybe, but he only ever offed the scum that the cops hadn't got to yet. He never belonged in jail, at least, not with the bastards he got tossed in with."

Mark laughs and cuts in.

"Hah. Bet half of 'em were in there 'cause of him in the first place."

Sam nods thoughtfully.

"That's true. Still whether or not he deserved to be there, he _was_ in the jail, correct...?"

"What, you think he got killed with the rest of 'em criminals?"

"Well, it was within the blast radius..."

* * *

This is not how Mary had planned to spend her night. She's running down the streets, gasping and panting and glad, so glad that she remembered to change into flats before starting on her way home. Five men are stalking after her with grins on their faces and evil in their eyes. They jeer as they lope closer, circling around and closing in.

"Hey hottie!"

"Wait up!"

"We just wanna have a good time!"

"Yeah, don't you wanna have some fun with us?"

All Mary wants to do is get home to her boys. Nervously, she starts to whisper soft prayers under her breath.

* * *

Ed shakes his head.

"Impossible. There was a prison break a little while before the blast. If anyone escaped, it would've been him."

Mark interrupts even as he lights up a new cigarette.

"Oh yeah?"

"It was all over the news, bud. Guess you hit your nap time too early, huh?"

Ed and Sam snicker while Mark shoots them an evil glare.

"Oh shut it. I don't believe you. How's one man alone gonna break out of maximum security, 'specially when everyone else hates him?"

"Mark." Ed gives his friend a Look.

"He's _Rorschach_."

All three men are silent for a moment as they consider this point.

"True."

* * *

"Rorschach can't be a girl because he's awesome and he punches people in the face and stuff! I mean, girls can do that too, but not _that_ hard! That's why they're girls!"

"You take that back!"

Alice knees him in the crotch, and Greg squeaks and falls over. It's okay, though, because it was for a good reason.

"Girls are tough too!"

Harry starts to say something when Alice flops down to sit on Greg's chest, but Milt grabs his arm and gives him a look. Harry thinks a little longer, then settles for picking the Hat up off the ground from where Greg had dropped it. It's safer not to get involved. Alice is wearing Milton's cousin's old trench boots.

"Uncle! Uncle uncle uncle!"

"Take back what you said!"

"I take it back! Just get off! I can't breathe!"

And Alice hops off, smugly satisfied, and flounces over to the other boys, where she deftly plucks the Hat from Harry's fingers and plops it on her head.

"Thanks for holding that for me."

Justice has been done.

* * *

Mary is being pressed up against a dirty alley wall, struggling to get away as the men tear at her coat. She cries and screams and she's pleading for a saviour.

Three men nod, in agreement for one brief moment because of course their hero is still in the city, doing what he does best. After all, he may have been dirty and dingy and violent, he was _theirs_.

A little girl smiles and plays at vanquishing evil villains and nasty gang members. Her hat flops over her eyes sometimes, but you don't really need to see to dream, do you?

* * *

All over the city, people hope and pray and need, calling and calling and calling his name. Is it any wonder that he answers?


End file.
